


Jiffy Lube

by orphan_account



Category: AFI
Genre: AOD era, Fluff, Frat House era, Humor, M/M, Snow, hxc hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Davey and Jade are stranded in the snow with broken bones and a broken car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jiffy Lube

**Author's Note:**

> Jiffy Lube is a auto-repair and oil-change chain. I'm immature so the name always makes me laugh, and its about time I wrote a story that utilized the double entendre. This story could also be called "Jade and Too-Many-Hyphens," or, "An Excuse for an Undergrad Psych Major to Wank About Psychoanalysis."

It didn’t take Freud to decipher the unconscious meaning of Jade’s newfound preoccupation with anal sex. In fact, it didn’t even take your average, run of the mill psychoanalyst. Jade himself could figure it out, and he practically graduated with a degree in denial, so clearly the connection was glaringly obvious.

Jade kept on accidentally thinking about anal sex because he was gay. 

Or at least, sexually obsessed (and possibly in love) with a dude. He didn’t exactly care to parse out the differences between potential gayness and potential inlove-ness; it seemed tedious and pointless and full of difficult to navigate potholes of grey area that his unconscious might accidentally project an image of a penis onto, so he just ignored the pesky details. After all, one or the other, it didn’t matter. He was still slipping in the Freudian fashion, hallucinating erections in his coffee and spending entirely too much time imagining Davey with his pants off. 

So Jade was already in the midst of a crisis when Davey’s car broke down on some snowy middle-of-nowhere street on the way to Reno. They were driving to see a show- a real show, not some friend-of-a-friend’s record release bullshit, but a band they both actually liked. Somehow, Jade managed to manipulate Davey into driving them there, which was an entirely bad idea seeing as Davey’s car sucked, and the drive to Reno sucked, and most of all, Davey’s driving skills in general sucked. 

Jade was a far better driver, but he had been increasingly worried as the show date dawned that he might drive them off a cliff if he happened to have one of his psychoanalytic anal-sex images in the middle of some hairpin curve, so he managed to force Davey behind the wheel. This was never a good idea. Still, the forcing-job alone made it somehow Jade’s fault when Davey’s shitty maroon Acura, with its colorful coating of punk and straightedge sticker proclaiming to everyone who could _see_ that Davey was in fact, a Drug Free Misfits Fan, decided to stop running. 

It wasn’t snowing, but it clearly _had_ been snowing for the better part of a few days, because on either side of the isolated little road, there were hulking, ugly grey-brown drifts of filthy snow and ice. They made finding street signs fairly difficult, which was how Davey managed to get lost after they got off the freeway, instead stranded on the side of this dreary road in dreary-ass reno with an insubstantial sweatshirt. He turned the key in the ignition again, he and Jade leaning in with held breath. The engine coughed, tried, then silence. 

“Shit,” Davey muttered, thumping back down into the drivers seat, hands flying to his face in defeat. “This is all your fault.” 

“What? You’re the shitty driver,” Jade reminded him, arms crossed over his chest as he shivered. Now that the heater has just perished along with their momentum, those snowdrifts outside seemed like more than just bleak scenery. 

“Yeah, which is why _you_ should have driven. Ugh, I knew this would happen. Shit...” he said again, shaking his head and running his fingers through his devil lock, untangling it. The blue dye disappeared in the grey lighting, making it seem all black, sinister and dark and matching Davey’s eyes. 

Jade had nothing to say, because he was too hung up on Davey’s use of the word shit twice. The first time it passed without ripples in Jade’s otherwise placid unconscious, but now it was reminding him of the inevitable, and Jade was thinking the horrified thought how does one prevent getting shit on their dick during anal sex? how come I’ve never seen that in porn? they probably use enemas before filming or something... 

“What are you doing?” Davey asked him, irritated. Jade snapped his head up in response, horrified to have been caught in the act. 

“Just brainstorming what the fuck we should do,” he lied hastily, aware of a weird flush creeping up his sternum. He fidgeted with his sweatshirt collar, long fingers curling close to his Adam’s apple. It was a quick, successful recovery, seeing as Davey just nodded emphatically in agreement. 

“I say we call AAA, get towed,” Jade offered lamely, even though he was half-sure Davey didn’t have insurance, nor could he actually afford a tow-truck. 

“Nah dude, I can’t pay for that!” Davey replied, confirming Jade’s fears. “Fuck, I’m gonna stand outside and try and wave someone down, maybe they can tell us where the nearest gas station is, as least....” 

And with that, Davey struggled against the door then slammed out, allowing an icy blast of air invade the car. Jade clutched at himself, gritting his teeth in discomfort, and at Davey’s not-at-all-suggestive-but-still-troublesome-use of the word “fuck.” He sat in the passenger side, twiddling his thumbs for awhile and watching Davey, who was very short, stand on the side of the road dwarfed by snowdrift, waving his arms around every time a car drove by. 

It took awhile but eventually some nice guy in a massive Bro-Truck better suited to Hawaii or some beach town rather than _Reno_ pulled over and talked to Davey. Bro-Truck drove away, and Davey trotted back to the car, slipping a little in a kind of wonderful, unfairly-sexy way and motioning for Jade to get his ass out of the car. 

“That guy said there’s a Jiffy Lube like twenty feet around that corner. It sucks that we’ll miss the show, but at least I won’t have to pay a tow truck... we can push the car,” he said breathlessly, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. 

Jade’s jaw dropped and he looked at Davey with a critical glare. “Uh, what the fuck Dave, no we can’t. That car weighs like two thousand pounds and we’re string-bean sized.” 

“Uh, maybe _you_ are Chip Rock Block but I’m perfectly, legitimately buff and capable of pushing a fucking car. With your string-bean help. So come on.” 

And that was how Jade ended up in the freezing cold of Reno with no jacket, bracing his substantially less thick arms against the bumper and pushing Davey’s stupid car with the stupid stickers to a stupid place called fucking _Jiffy Lube._ Because Freud _wanted_ him to think about anal sex. The universe was _deliberately_ making them break down next to a Jiffy Lube, just so Jade could imagine slicking his index and middle fingers with some KY and pushing them against, and eventually inside of a ring of muscle that could have belonged to any anonymous asshole, but of course, in his mind, belonged to Davey. Because right there next to him, accompanying him on his journey to Jiffy Lube, was Davey himself, with his beautifully half-inked and decidedly toned arms, and his dark eyes, and blue-black hair, and snarling mouth and- 

Jade slipped on the ice. 

It happened too fast to plan for or comprehend, Jade’s traction-less canvas Adidas just sliding right out from under him, and depositing his full bodyweight onto the cruel, bitingly cold asphalt. He wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but he ended up slamming his bony ass directly onto the ice deposit his shoes had battled and lost, and before Davey even noticed his car-pushing partner was down, Jade was clutching his tailbone, writhing around on the gritty, wet road and stringing together quite the tapestry of profanity. 

Alarmed, Davey dropped to his knees beside Jade, eyes wide until he realized Jade wasn’t crying or something. Then he laughed, because he was such a good friend and all. 

“Dude, you just fell down,” he snorted, sitting back on his haunches and sputtering through a soft mouth, which was somehow still suggestive and too-pink looking even from Jade’s newfound horizontal orientation. He blinked at it, eyes hazy with pain and humiliation. 

“No shit, Dave,” He hissed, rolling onto his side and promptly flattening himself out again, sucking in cold air. “Fuck. I definitely broke my tailbone.” 

“You did _not_ break your tailbone.” 

“How do you know? Are you my ass?” he responded oh-so-wittily. Of course, Davey just laughed at him, and of course, Jade was was forced to think of all the implications a sentence containing the words _Davey_ and _ass_ carried with it. “It’s not funny,” Jade whined, very aware of the growing wet spot on his back from the fucking snow is was laying in. 

“Okay, okay. It _is_ funny, but I’ll lay off until you’re in a less pathetic position. Uh, think you can stand?” Davey offered his hands to Jade, who stared at them with a contemplative mix of terror and helplessness. After a few moments, he grudgingly took them, cold flesh against cold flesh as Davey hauled his body, searing ass-pain and all, clumsily upright. 

“Ouch,” Jade huffed. 

“You’re a mess,” Davey sighed, eyes crinkled in a sort of non-threatening-but-still-stomach-twisting way. He was surprised at how good natured Davey was being about this whole thing, missing the show and his car breaking down and Jade being a miraculous klutz and all. 

“I’m just not built for rugged terrain, that’s all. I’m like a golf cart,” Jade mumbled, rubbing his lower back prudently and feeling very sorry for himself. 

“Or a Pomeranian,” Davey offered, motioning for Jade to turn around. “Lemme see your ass.” 

Jade’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. “No dude, what the fuck? That’s weird.” His heart was racing, and somewhere in a grave in Austria, the skeleton of Sigmund Freud was laughing. 

“Oh please, save the pretend-jock-homophobic foreplay for a time when you _don’t_ have a broken bone?” Davey rolled his eyes, pale hand held between them looking for all the world like a swan frozen in mid flight. Jade, hung up on the word _foreplay_ and throughly disgusted with the fact his mind was drawing comparisons between Davey’s body parts and the personified, bird-version of grace and elegance and all that other bullshit, obliged, awkwardly shifting so his back was to Davey. 

He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain and instead focus all his energy onto the feeling of Davey’s ice-cold swan-hand pulling up the hem of his shirt, of fingers grazing wet, clammy skin. _The Swan Princess_ Jade thought. _The Ugly Duckling. Swan Lake._

“Ugh,” He huffed. 

Davey tugged down his pants a little bit, and Jade could feel that pair of obsidian eyes burning into his ass. In favor of abusing himself over even _thinking_ the word obsidian, Jade stiffened, an involuntary noise of protest bubbling from his throat. 

“What are you doing?” He asked testily, alarmed. “You can’t _see_ the broken bone, it’s under my skin. And can’t you do this somewhere more private than the side of the fucking road?” He sounded wheezy, and Davey clucked his tongue.

 

“You shouldn’t walk, really, if it is broken. Here...” he sighed, quite suddenly pressing tips of his index and middle fingers very, very gently to the top of Jade’s _ass crack_ and prodding the bone in question. “Does that hurt?” 

It _did_ hurt, but not quite as badly as Jade’s _soul_ hurt at this very moment. He couldn’t believe that this was happening to him. He could not _believe_ Davey was touching his ass crack in public. It was unreal. His cheeks burnt in shame, head dropped and eyes fixed unwaveringly on the colorless slop of road-grit and ice before him. 

“Well?” 

“It hurts, but I think I’m okay to walk,” Jade said solemnly. Still, Davey didn’t take his hand from Jade’s pants. It stayed stubbornly placed at the waistband, poking and pressing in a variety of pressures and places, like he was _trying_ to illicit some kind of outraged response from Jade. And it was painful as fuck, but mostly, Jade just kept on thinking about the few inches Davey would have to go south if he were to ever--

“It’s probably just bruised,” Davey announced like he was some doctor, finally moving his hand. Jade inhaled sharply, willing away the boner that had just began to stir bravely in his pants, valiant despite the cold. 

“Ah, and you know this from those years you spent in med school,” Jade said, hoping a joke (even a bad one), would prove to Davey he was fit to walk to they could get back to their car-pushing-to-Jiffy-Lube-Mission so the erection would vanish. 

“Uh, I learn about injuries _all the time_ from my personal trainer. But you wouldn’t know what one of those is. So lets just say you should trust me, and suck it up, and start pushing the car before it gets dark and the wolves come out.” 

And without another word, Davey and Jade were back at the bumper, spending the next what-seemed-like-forever pushing the stupid car in painstaking mostly silence, which was filled only by the sound of trucks whizzing by and Davey’s shitty, hummed rendition of Rancid’s _Junkie Man._

By the time they actually made it to Jiffy Lube, the sun had set, their arms were more than shaking, and Jade had heard heard Davey mumble _Junkie Man, tell me what your story is_ at least thirty seven times total. That was a meager sum, compared to the combined one hundred and six shits, fucks, and other assorted curse words they’d omitted together. In short, they were both miserable. Jade possibly the more miserable of the two, seeing as he was the one with a broken, sorry, _bruised_ according to Dr. Davey Personal Trainer whatever the fuck, tailbone. 

“I am. In so much. Pain,” Jade grumbled once they’d talked to one of the Jiffy Lube guys (who seemed completely impressed by the fact they’d managed to actually push the car all the way down the hill.) They were alone in the waiting room now, which was scattered with a few hunting and home and garden magazines but otherwise deserted. 

“Oh yeah?” Davey asked, hand immediately finding its way back to Jade’s ass crack. Jade swatted it away, alarmed. 

“Quit it dude! There are like, _people_ watching,” He whispered frantically even though this was a lie and the mechanic was well out of earshot. It didn’t seem to matter, his stomach plummeted and his mind raced through a vivid series of images, all of which somehow contained Davey looming over him on all fours, and a complete and utter lack of clothing. 

Davey, being the persistent and stubborn prick he was, ignored Jade’s pleas, and continued to feel along the edge of his tailbone, sore and bruised and _in public_. Jade couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe how fucking close Davey was standing to him, mere inches away and hand on his ass (albeit clinically) right there in the middle of the fucking Jiffy Lube with its humming florescent lights and oily, once-white linoleum. 

“Lighten up,” Davey mumbled. 

“No, _seriously_ Dave,” Jade responded, forcibly removing Davey’s hand from the waistband of his pants. He tried to sound firm, even angry, but he kind of ended up sounding like he was about to burst into tears or something, voice reedy and weak. 

Davey furrowed his brow, a creeping expression of concern softening the edges of his gaze like margarine melting into a bowl. “Jade, you’ve been acting weird all night. What’s up?” 

Jade could think of a million things that were up, that might warrant him to act “weird.” A million. Unfortunately for him, however, all he could currently think about was the way Davey’s lips were parted and a little too wet looking, this perfect amount of space drifting somewhere between pursed, and open. He swallowed. 

“No seriously. What’s up?” Davey repeated. 

Jade finally came to. “What’s up?! Dude, we missed the show, your car broke down, I fell in the snow, I’m all wet and dirty, my tailbone is broken--”

“Jade, it’s not broken, it’s--”

“Whatever dude, my tailbone’s _bruised_ , and you’re feeling my ass in a fucking auto repair shop. Sorry if I’m acting ‘weird.’ This _night’s_ been weird,” He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Well, point taken, but tonight aside you’ve been all...jumpy lately. The last few weeks. And your eyes keep glazing over when you look at me, what’s with that?” Davey pressed on, voice continuing in this infuriatingly gentle, prodding fashion. Like he had no idea he was treading in dangerous territory and might go plummeting through a mineshaft at any given moment and find out that Jade wanted to fuck him. It was like he was _genuinely_ concerned. Jade was dizzy with it, dizzy and a little sick over the way Davey’s voice got soft when he _cared._

“Uh, there is one thing,” he heard himself tell Davey, his voice waltzing right across the fucking railroad tracks while the rest of him screamed _no!_ He was an idiot, and he was adding, “You might want to sit down.” 

In the Jiffy Lube, there were a grand total of three rickety blue plastic chairs, the kind one might have on the deck of a summer cabin around a picnic table or something. With an eyebrow raised in suspicion, Davey carefully sat down at the least grimy chair. “Okay...?” 

Jade took a deep breath, too far along in the process to stop himself now. “So you know Sigmund Freud’s theories of the unconscious?” 

“Of course I know Freud,” Davey snapped. In the one semester of college Davey Havok had successfully completed, he’s managed to get an A in Intro to Psychology 101, and now thought of himself as the authority on psychological matters even though Jade was fairly certain he’d slept through the majority of the lectures. 

“Right. Well, you know how he had this whole thing about the Oedipal Complex...that all normal kids want to kill their fathers and marry their mothers, and they escape the Oedipal pattern by entering into the normal developmental matrix by falling in love with a girl, having sex, and getting married, whatever? And that’s not right, but its normal?” 

“Uh, yeah, but--”

Jade cut Davey off, in the midst of a full blown, out of control word-vomit of epic proportions. “Anyway, minus the whole incest thing, I’ve been having a hell of a time with this whole Freudian business because I’m totally not entering into the normal heterosexual-male matrix because I’ve been having these...troubling, but sort of unconscious thoughts...” Jade trailed off, because he was eighty percent sure he’d stopped making sense somewhere after the word Oedipal. This notion was helped along by the increasingly amused smile Davey was sporting. 

“Dave, this is serious shit,” he whined. 

“Wait, let me get this straight...” Davey sighed, holding up one of those devastating, swan-like hands. “You think something’s wrong with you because you _don’t_ want to fuck your mom? And you’re aware Freud was on some serious drugs, and psychoanalytic theory is a bunch of bullshit, right?” 

Once again, Jade could not believe they were having this conversation, and that this entire scenario was playing out at a Jiffy Lube in Reno. It was unreal. “Psychoanalytic theory is bullshit, yes, but Freudian Slips and the unconscious? Those are fucking real, dude.” 

Davey stared at him, smile fading into watered-down confusion. “You’re making no sense,” he eventually sighed, hair the exact same color as the plastic chair, cheekbones sharp and ultra-severe in the harsh artificial lighting. Jade’s mouth went dry. 

“Dave, I’m in love with you,” Jade declared sadly. 

Davey’s eyes went darker, and that perfect part in his mouth closed, then opened again. “Then...” 

Jade anticipated chaos. Catastrophe. The Apocalypse. 

“Then...why did you take my hand out of your pants?”

This was not included in the range of potential responses Jade was expecting, but it was a better alternative that the majority he’d entertained. He blinked, wondering what the best, most logical response to this question might be. “Well, I didn’t want to get hard. At Jiffy Lube. I mean, I also didn’t want to _tell you_ all this at Jiffy Lube, but I did. So, Sorry,” Jade explained, managing to exemplify both his notorious social awkwardness and his grand ability to make apologies sound insincere. He tried again. “I really am sorry, dude, I know this is like the last thing you want to hear when your car’s broken.” 

Davey’s gaze looked kind of broken. 

“Jade, c’mere. You’re bad at talking,” Davey said gently. 

“Hey,” Jade mumbled. He was fucking scared but he shuffled forward anyway, ready to suck it up and endure the condescending head-pat and _look, I love you but not like that and I hope this doesn’t make out friendship awkward_ speech Davey was bound to give him. Instead, once Jade got within grabbing distance, Davey stood up abruptly and slid his left hand up to the wrist beneath Jade’s pants. His pants, _and_ his boxers. 

Suddenly hot everywhere on his body and now only _distantly_ aware that Davey was full-on copping a feel of his ass cheek in a Jiffy Lube, Jade wobbled a little, unsure of his ability to keep standing. Davey’s eyes were half-lidded and absolutely terror-stricken, in a way that was contagious and struck Jade with terror, too. And they shared breath, freaked out together. 

“You should learn to recognize when someone is taking advantage of you when you’re injured. I mean, honestly what personal trainer tells their clients about broken tailbones?” Davey’s voice was low, and Jade could hear his heart beating. He fixed his hand upon Davey’s chest, palm involuntarily seeking out the quickened, two-beat thud. 

Davey closed his eyes and opened his mouth and Jade bit him before he kissed him, sinking his teeth into the vulnerable flesh with a wild need, and all the weight of the unconscious. Davey made an appreciative noise, sinking into him and gripping his ass tighter with still-cold fingers, making them both stumble. 

For the first time since the car broke down, Jade was relieved they didn’t make it to the show. After all, the prospect of a 7-11 coffee and doughnut dinner followed by dirty sex in a Reno hotel room was sounding infinitely better. The thought was hazy and half formed as Davey kissed him, wet lips sliding from his mouth to his jaw and pressing there to mumble, “It’s a good thing your tailbone is only bruised, because I’m going to fuck. Your. Ass. So. Hard, you’ll--”

“Shit,” Jade wheezed, silencing Davey with a rough palm before he collapsed right there, under Davey’s still-fierce grip. “You need to shut up, we’re still at an auto-repair shop,” he hissed. 

“I’m so glad my car sucks,” Davey sighed against the callouses on Jade’s hands, lips too soft by comparison. 

And for the first time since Jade figured this shit out, he didn’t cease his mind’s trip to the gutter upon the utterance of the word _suck_.


End file.
